


Sugar Quills and the Chosen Prick

by HeyItsGem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Harry is too much for draco to handle, M/M, Smuff, Sugar Quills, but you can't stop me from having not really relevant titles, hahahahhahaha, it does get semi steamy though, it's probably not so important to be in the title, its late can you tell, not really smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyItsGem/pseuds/HeyItsGem
Summary: Potter is being "indecent" and Draco is too gay to function





	Sugar Quills and the Chosen Prick

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a Drabble prompt ask I got -my prompt was “Are you trying to turn me on right now or are you really just that oblivious?", but it turned into a ficlet, so I decided to give it its own space to exist rather than grouping it with my other drabbles. Thanks a whole lot to the loveliest beta ever @cubedcoffeecake (on tumblr and on ao3)

When the Wizengamot let him stay out of Azkaban—on the condition that Draco both returned to Hogwarts for the new Eighth Year _and_ shared a room with Harry Potter—he’d thought it was a miracle.

Now, Draco thinks he’d prefer rooming with _Greyback_ in Azkaban over being here with Potter. It isn’t that Potter is being hostile towards him or anything; _that_ Draco knows how to deal with. No, it’s much worse than that.

Potter is being friendly and polite and calling him _Draco_ , and Merlin, it’s making Draco lose his mind. There’s also the fact that he keeps sauntering around their room half-naked—at best. It’s not even a month into the school year and Draco has seen much more of Potter’s chosen arse than he can handle. It is getting to the point where Draco thinks that Potter somehow found out that Draco’s gay and is doing this on purpose to _punish_ Draco for his war crimes.

Right now, for example, Potter is lying face down on his bed, shirtless and in his pants, sucking obscenely on a sugar quill. Draco has had sugar quills countless times but never once has he felt compelled to make sounds quite like the ones Harry is making.

Draco wants to say something—a snarky comment about how that’s probably the most action Potter’s ever got—but he can’t bring himself to look away from how Potter’s lips close around the quill-shaped sweet and his tongue wraps around it as if it’s…

The thought is distracting enough that Draco fails to notice how Potter’s eyes are no longer fixed on his Advanced Transfigurations book but on Draco instead.

“Draco, is something wrong?” Potter says, bringing Draco out of his trance. “You’ve been staring for a while now.”

Draco feels his face heat up and wills his skin to stay it’s usual pale colour. “I-I’m fine, Potter.” Draco stumbles over his words, internally cursing himself for it. “I was just wondering how you can eat something so sugar-filled. You’re not eleven anymore, though your actions suggest otherwise.”

Bloody Hell, why do insults no longer come to him naturally? The worst part in all this is that Potter actually seems _concerned_.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You seem a bit flushed, do you have a fever?”

With that Potter sits up and fucking crawls to the edge of his bed. He raises his hand up towards Draco’s forehead. The moment that Potter’s fingertips touch Draco’s forehead, Draco jumps back and walks backwards into the bathroom they share, tripping over his feet ever so slightly. He yells about being fine all throughout.

***

Draco walks into the showers after the “friendly” game of Quidditch between the eighth years —they aren’t allowed on the house teams because they’re not actually _in_ their respective houses anymore.

Flying against Potter had always been a thrill but that was never because Draco was thirsting over Potter. That is, until now. Draco wonders how he ever survived games against Gryffindor— _Potter_ —before. It should be illegal to look so good in quidditch leathers. Now that Draco thinks about it, maybe _this_ is why Slytherin almost always lost against Gryffindor: because Draco couldn’t be a functional human being when Potter was in Quidditch gear.

Draco’s thought process is stalled by the sound of a shower turning on. Apparently, Draco didn’t wait long enough to be alone in the showers. Draco huffs, about to walk back out of the showers and head to his room, when he hears it: a moan, followed by a content sigh.

Draco halts. No one would be _relieving_ themselves in the communal showers, right? Another moan cuts through the silence and Draco turns toward the source of the sound because it sounds familiar. He walks silently to the last stall, where he sees the Chosen Arse yet again.

With Draco’s luck, he really shouldn’t be surprised that it’s Potter. Alas, he is and he once again can’t do much more than stand there and gawk at his roommate’s arse. Of course, Potter chooses that exact moment to let out another salacious moan, his hands roaming over his chest and back. Potter isn’t doing anything essentially sexual, but Draco thinks that Potter couldn’t be more erotic if he was having the wildest wank ever.

Draco must make some kind of noise then because Potter whips around, eyes blown wide. Potter flushes, and Draco knows that his own face must look very similar to Potter’s rapidly reddening one. “I wanted this shower,” Draco explains––lies––trying to keep his eyes from wandering further down Potter’s body, “but I can see that it’s occupied so I’ll see you later, Potter.”

Draco practically runs out of the showers. He doesn’t slow down until he gets to his shared room with Potter. And if he’s caught a glance of The Saviours cock before running out, he tries not to think about it.

He fails.

***

Draco is certain that Harry Potter is trying to kill him. They’ve been roommates for about two months now and Draco feels that he’s about to die of sexual frustration at any given minute. Potter’s taking a shower and while Draco is really trying to pay attention to his Potions essay, he can’t seem to think of anything but the day he walked in on Potter in the showers.

Draco’s seen Potter’s arse many times—both before and after that day—but Merlin, he keeps thinking of how it looked that day. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Potter’s bloody perfect arse with drops of water trailing down and disappearing in the crack. Bloody hell, Draco needs to get a grip.

He wishes Blaise or Pansy or Goyle were there so they could knock some sense into Draco.

Draco drops his quill and rubs at his temples, as if that would help get rid of the mental image of Potter and his Chosen Arse. He stands up from his desk and starts pacing the room.

He has to do something to fix this. He doesn’t know if he can take this another day, let alone for the rest of the school year. He supposes he can talk to McGonagall and ask if he can have a room transfer without the Ministry finding out about it, or ask if they could put like a divider in the middle of their room or something. He doesn’t know how he’d say “I’m too gay to function with Potter around” when asked for his reasoning though, so maybe not.

“Draco!” Potter calls to him from the bathroom. “I forgot my towel. Can you bring one in for me?”

Draco blanches. “You’re a wizard! Why can’t you just summon one? Or cast a hot air charm on yourself?”

“I don’t have my wand,” Potter yells back. “I’ll burn myself if I try to do that wandless.”

“I could probably manage an _Accio_ though,” Potter says, swinging open the door to the bathroom and Draco’s jaw drops. Because Potter is standing at the door in all his naked glory. Drops of water are falling down his too long hair onto his sculpted chest, travelling down to his soft-but-still-quite-impressive-in-size cock and Draco can’t––doesn’t really want to either––look away from it.

Potter raises his hand and waves it once, murmuring the incantation. A fluffy white towel comes flying into Potter’s hands. He uses it to wipe his face and rubs it at his hair carelessly, not bothering to cover himself. Meanwhile, Draco is still gawking at the Chosen Prick.

And then, before his brain can catch up with his mouth, Draco speaks. **“Are you trying to turn me on right now or are you really just that oblivious?”** Draco’s eyes widen as he realizes what exactly he’s said. “I-I mean, put some clothes on, Potter, you’re highly indecent.”

Potter takes a big step towards Draco, towel still not quite covering his parts. “Well, that depends. Are you turned on?” He takes another step closer. He’s less than half a metre away from Draco now, and Draco has half a mind to step back. “If you’re not,” another step forward, another step back. “Then I have no clue,” another step. “What you’re talking about.” Draco’s breathing is heavy as Potter takes yet another step closer to him and Draco falls back on Potter’s bed. “But if you are…” Harry trails off, leaning over top of Draco, his face mere centimetres from Draco’s.

He can feel Potter’s breath on his lips. He can see the flecks of orange in Potter’s gorgeously green eyes. He could probably count the lashes on Potter’s eyes, but he doesn’t think he can focus on numbers right now. He doesn’t even think that he can remember his full name.

Potter leans in the slightest bit more, leaving barely any room between their lips. Draco registers it as a challenge. He’s normally not one to back away from a challenge but Potter’s so close and their breaths are mixing together and he can feel Potter’s arms next to his own keeping him from leaving—-not that Draco really wants to try to anyway. Potter is naked and wet and on top of him. He’s on top of Draco and he’s wet. And _naked_.

Draco lets out an involuntary moan when he just can’t take it anymore. He pushes up ever so slightly on his elbows, latching his lips onto Potter’s. They kiss fervently for what feels like ages before Potter pulls away, leaving their foreheads touching.

“I was wondering when you’d finally crack. I was starting to think that you were straight after all,” Potter says with a smirk, making his way onto the bed. Draco wants to feel the smirk on Potter’s lips on his own and make it disappear.

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco says, wrapping his arms around Potter’s neck and pulling him down by his still-wet hair.

“Call me Harry,” Po- Harry says, just before meeting Draco’s lips once more. Draco thinks he might as well start calling Potter “Harry” if he’s going to keep snogging him. And really, Draco has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr!](https://potter-loves-malfoy.tumblr.com)
> 
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> You can also follow my “main” blog [here!](https://oreosaregay.tumblr.com)


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